Page 58 of Miss Dashing
Utter balderdash. “We are cousins of some sort, which makes us family—family enough thatIprovided the funds to purchase the commission you hoped for so desperately. You could have sent regards to me by name in any of your rare general dispatches, but you did not. Not regards, not fond regards, not the kind of letters any man is allowed to exchange with his prospective bride.”
“But my dearest—”
Hecate held up a hand. “We would not suit. I will not marry you, and you’d best be careful lest Portia get herself locked into a pantry with you.”
“Portia was a scheming little girl ten years ago, and she’s only grown into her potential. I’ll not be locked into any pantries with her. I will be too busy courting you.”
“Your suit is doomed, and you undertake it against my wishes.” Exhaustion was making Hecate daft, because the idea that Johnny insisted on courting her struck her as laughable. This handsome, charming, golden adventurer would have at one time been her dream come true.
He was annoying when a lady was short of sleep and missing her true love.
“I am exceedingly tired,” she said, shaking her hand free of Johnny’s grasp and pushing to her feet. “You are correct that the house party has been my chore to organize, subsidize, and manage, and I am nearly asleep on my feet. I bid you good night and will expect you to jettison any notions of courting me. Court Flavia. She’s sweet and overshadowed by Portia, though Flavie has a kind heart and better instincts than she knows.”I was like her once upon a time, long ago.
Johnny rose and once again possessed himself of Hecate’s hand.
Stop touching me.She bit back the words lest Johnny provoke some sort of scene that could be heard from the house—or the summer cottage.
“We are legally engaged,” Johnny said. “That hasn’t changed, and I intend to court you with every ounce of my considerable determination. All those years, Hecate, all those winters, I promised myself that someday I’d return to England and to you. I survived hardships and dangers you cannot imagine, and all the while, the thought of coming home to you kept me going.”
Rank, febrile nonsense, but such was the quiet conviction in Johnny’s words that Hecate hadn’t the heart to name it as such.
“Listen to me. Isaac had us sign those papers—if any I did sign—because he planned to see us married, and then he would have insisted I remain in England while you risked your life in the wilderness. With your consent as my husband, he’d doubtless have had himself appointed trustee of my fortune, and you would have returned to find yourself married to a pauper. Isaac might well have been betting that you would not return at all. Be grateful that we are not married and that we were never truly engaged.”
Isaac had hatched any number of such schemes, but Hecate’s solicitors at the time had had their own agenda for abetting her continued independence, and thank heavens for that.
Johnny seized her other hand. “Tearing myself away from you was the hardest thing I ever did, Hecate, and that is saying a great deal, given the difficulty of life in the wilds of Canada. We shall be married. I will not renounce the agreement, and you must at least give me a chance to win your heart.”
No, I must not.Ten years ago, a promise to return to her, a few letters, a lock of his hair… the slightest indication of loyalty or affection from him would have been enough to convince her of his esteem.
Instead, he’d given her some parting advice and a pat on the shoulder. Now he rivaled Portia in his ability to create false history to suit his present agenda.
“I am unwilling for you to court me,” Hecate said, “much less marry me. The Church of England takes a dim view of a woman being forced to the altar against her will. A very dim view.” Marriage could be nullified in the absence of true consent, though that was a scandalous road to travel.
“Marriage to me will be consistent with your wishes, Hecate. I assure you of that.”
Her only warning was a tightening of his grip on her hands, then he swooped in, got an arm around her shoulders, and was mashing his lips against her cheek.
“John Brompton, what the rubbishing blazes do you think—?”
His mouth landed on hers, and Hecate’s weariness and disbelief were joined by a spike of fear. The torches had been extinguished, the house was abed, and Johnny was much, much stronger than he’d been as a skinny youth in his loose-fitting uniform.
Hecate twisted, trying to aim a knee at the bounder’s cods, but she succeeded only in getting a halfhearted heel stomp to his boot.
Then Johnny was gone.
Hecate braced herself against the bench, dragging in air and preparing to pelt straight for the house, but there was Phillip…
He had one hand in Johnny’s golden locks, the other held one of Johnny’s hands against his back. The pugilists doubtless had a name for that maneuver, while Hecate called it well timed.
“Is this what passes for courting in Canada?” Phillip asked pleasantly. “Brompton, you owe the lady an apology. Your fumbling attentions were clearly unwanted.”
Even in the darkness, Hecate could see the calculation pass through Johnny’s eyes. Phillip had let go of Johnny’s hair, but still had a hand hiked behind him.
“Miss Brompton, I do apologize. I am to blame for misreading the situation, and it won’t happen again.”
Hecate’s fear acquired a leavening of rage. How dare he, and what if Phillip hadn’t come along, and what sort of thanks was this for spending a small fortune and working herself to exhaustion…?
And yet, a Brompton-style tantrum would not do. “Keep your distance from me,” she said. “Lay a hand on me again, and you will long for those wilderness hardships.”
